


Nothing Ado About Much

by dappledplatypus (shut_the_jongup)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (just based on looks), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bat Vampires, Bats, Blood Drinking, Comedy, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Starvation, Stereotypes, Unhealthy Habits, Vampire Bucky Barnes, Vampire Natasha Romanov, Vampires, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26641585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shut_the_jongup/pseuds/dappledplatypus
Summary: Bucky Barnes, engineering student (and vampire) has a massive crush on Steve Rogers, art student (and human.) Unfortunately, Bucky is also occupied by dealing with the side effects of denying his body's need for fresh blood.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 20
Kudos: 54





	1. Paint Me

**Author's Note:**

> Is this cliche? Yes. Am I doing it anyway? Hell yeah. I wanted a bat-vamp fic, so I’m making it myself.  
> I wrote most of this a while ago but never got around to finishing it… no time to do so like now, I suppose :) Anticipating the final product will come out to about 3 chapters, but we'll see. It's definitely a little fast-paced (bc I'm impatient as heck) and I might go back to do more editing later, as well. Enjoy!

Bucky stood in front of the bathroom mirror, looking at the empty space he’d swiped clean of warm fog. Of course he had no reflection, but his shadow on the wall behind him offered a vague, blob-like shape. Bucky wasn’t sure why he even bothered anymore––apparently the reflex of looking for yourself in a reflective surface never faded. He turned toward the mirror every single time. The first few instances in which the reflection had been void of his body had been wildly disorienting.

He still wasn’t sure how it worked. He’d been told many things: that the mirror doesn’t reflect beings without souls (except it reflected Bucky’s cat, who was definitely soulless, so that was debunked enough for him,) that he was actually transparent and light went right through him (but he still had a shadow, so that couldn’t be it,) that the silver burned up his reflection (but mirrors weren’t made with silver anymore,) and a few other obscure things.

What Bucky did know for certain was that he showed up in pictures and his phone’s camera viewfinder. So he pulled up the camera app, flipped it to front-facing, and let his fangs pop out. They curled subtly around his bottom lip when he closed his mouth, long, curved, white, and elegant––but dulled from lack of use. He didn’t like biting; it made him feel like a predator, like a killer (even though he didn’t need to kill in order to eat.) He had only been turned two years prior (he was still a baby in vampire years,) and had stopped biting 6 months ago. The ill-effects of this decision hadn’t shown themselves immediately, but he was slowly beginning to feel the difference. His once-fluid agility and strength were slowing down. His skin was becoming chalky, and his teeth, though he kept them clean, couldn’t exactly be kept sharp with filing. Bucky was tired and sluggish most of the time, but it was worth it to avoid the inevitable guilt that had overcome him every time he’d bitten someone. It didn’t help that his first two meals, obtained in a craze of painful hunger and unfamiliar bloodlust, had been fatal for the victims. That was something he would never forgive himself for. He figured that stealing bagged blood from the hospital connected to campus was far less damaging in the long run, anyway. It wasn’t like many people needed AB, right?

Bagged blood was… dull, to say the least. It tasted stale; the food equivalent of a dusty old slice of bread. And it was kept  _ cold–– _ the absolute last thing that blood should be, inside or outside of the body.

Bucky didn’t know if there were long-term effects of denying his nature to bite, but it sure was getting harder and harder to resist. He hadn’t thought teeth could be so  _ itchy _ .

Bucky retracted his fangs, hissing as the dull bone slid back into his gums.

His hair was dark and shiny with water, but tangled, and he realized that a comb would be of wonderful use for that particular predicament. After taking care of the tangles and securing the damp strands back loosely with a hair tie, he made his way to his bedroom and dropped the towel that had been around his waist onto the floor.

He pulled a sweater over his head, a soft, dark blue cable knit that was great for being subtle in, on top of a white button down. He folded the crisp collar over the neck of his sweater. He liked to look good for class––so what? Boxers and plain jeans followed before he moved on to the laborious task of finding a pair of matching socks in his dresser. Yeah, he should just fold them all together when he did laundry, but he wasn’t going to lie to himself and say that he would next time when he knew it would never happen.

Sunlight, luckily, wasn’t an issue as long as Bucky kept a pair of shades over his eyes and covered most of his skin. If anything, a cloudless day would leave him with something like a light sunburn that could be easily soothed with some aloe vera. He did need to be careful with his eyes, though––they seemed to be permanently dilated (for optimal, but unnecessary, night vision,) which meant being practically blinded upon stepping foot out the door without a pair of sunglasses. Unless it was overcast out, which really happened to be the state of New York City’s skies quite often. He still wore the shades everyday, though. You never knew when the sun might come peeking out to catch the local vampires off-guard.

☾☽

Bucky would proudly admit to anyone that he had, in fact, transformed into a bat and flown up to the open window of an art building just because he had seen Steve Rogers up there. Well, maybe he wouldn’t admit that to Steve Rogers. It really wasn’t an easy effort––he’d had to subtly remove all of his clothes and stash them in his bag, which he hid in the first floor bathroom, then become a bat, then manage to fly out the bathroom door as somebody else opened it, and then gotten back outside before flying up to the open window. In hindsight, it was all, perhaps, a little bit unnecessary. But his student ID didn’t have access to the upper floors of the building since he wasn’t an art student. Also, flat out just asking Steve Rogers if he could watch him paint was creepy. Right? Steve Rogers was the prodigy of the fine arts department. One couldn’t just  _ ask _ to watch him paint. Although, in that respect, it made Bucky feel a little bit guilty to be cheating by taking his bat form. But so what? It wasn’t like he was capable of copying Steve’s work for profit even if he wanted to.

Before he had left the bathroom, Bucky had sent a text to Sam Wilson, fellow engineering student and roommate-who-had-inevitably-found-out-about-Bucky’s-predicament––both vampirism and unrelenting crush on Steve Rogers––saying “let me into arts 1st floor bathroom at 5:45” Yes, this had happened before. Sam was usually pretty reliable, too, so Bucky didn’t bother waiting for a reply before he tucked the phone into his backpack and took off.

Bucky was glad that the late afternoon was settling into the evening. All of his classes for the day were over, and he could catch the bus at 6 instead of 5:30. Which could very well also be the time at which Steve normally took the bus home, too. A bonus. Okay, so maybe Bucky’s crush on Steve Rogers was a little bit pathetic. At least he knew that Steve was bisexual, so in that respect he wouldn’t look like an idiot. The guy had bi-pride pins all over his bags, not to mention that one really adorable jean jacket he wore sometimes with the pink, purple, and blue flag stretching across the entire back. Except Steve Rogers was the unattainable type––for Bucky, at least. Everybody liked him; he could basically have anyone he wanted, and who was Bucky Barnes but that engineering kid who couldn’t even hold a paintbrush properly?

Unfortunately, he began seeing Steve around a lot two years ago when he started hanging out with Tony Stark in the tech lab. Steve had dropped by now and again for help with his gen ed computer science class, and while he and Tony sat together discussing code across the room, Bucky’s crush quickly began to fester. Steve had said hello to Bucky a few times, just to be polite, he knew. Sometimes Steve would glance over, an unreadable (but probably judgmental) look on his face, until Bucky met his gaze and he looked away. Yeah, Bucky really was one of those tech lab mole kids. He had gotten better after that first year, spending more time in the company of others or doing work in the campus coffee shop between classes. It was good to see the outside sometimes, to not just hole up in the basement every day.

And so, thanks to Tony Stark being the mutual friend between Bucky and Steve Rogers, they had an awkward sort of… acquaintanceship. Which is why it was weird that Bucky was then flying up to the open window from which he had seen Steve Rogers a few minutes ago so that he could watch him paint. Bucky was only about half a foot tall as a bat with a wing-span of nearly double that length, which didn’t really help when it came to being stealthy, which it came to a lot, in Bucky’s case. He was careful not to knock into anything, which he had done many times in the past, as he perched lightly on the window, laying on his front. The one thing Bucky hated about being in bat form was that bats couldn’t actually stand up. It was extremely disorienting to go from human to bat in general, but hanging upside down? That was a no thank you from Bucky. So he compromised, and scooted along on his belly.

What Bucky would never figure out was how he could still see just as well in his bat form. Bats were supposed to be blind for the most part, but Bucky had no problem seeing as one, except that it meant he couldn’t wear his sunglasses. It was still hard for him to look around the room for too long, because apparently artists loved to shine bright lights on their pieces while they worked, which, yeah, Bucky had known ahead of time, but he hadn’t really been thinking anything other than  _ Steve Rogers _ and  _ art _ and  _ Steve Rogers’s beautiful, incredible, amazing art _ .

From his position on the windowsill, Bucky could see Steve, who was sitting with his side facing Bucky. The floor was covered in a large tarp, and various bottles of paint littered the ground around Steve’s feet. There were even a couple of large paint cans, likely being used because their particular hues weren’t sold in smaller containers––Bucky had heard Steve complain about that before––and Steve held a plastic palette in one hand and a paintbrush in the other. There was a small stereo in the corner that Steve’s phone was hooked up to, playing some kind of slow, instrumental music. Artsy stuff.

Bucky tried to scoot forward, slowly crossing the width of the window sill, to get a closer look while also making sure Steve didn’t spot him. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he did, though––Bucky was just a bat. They saw bats sometimes… in the city… alright, not really, but it wasn’t  _ too _ weird. He could just fly away. It wasn’t like Steve could  _ recognize _ him.

And suddenly, Bucky’s little bat body was sliding too far forward, falling. He tried to catch himself on the ledge, but he barely managed to grip it with his small claws. A high squealing noise left his mouth as he tumbled down, falling right into a can of red paint. Luckily, he didn’t sink, but he couldn’t open his eyes and could barely breathe; thick, smelly paint filling his orifices and making him hack and sneeze.

“Oh, gosh, Jesus––” Steve Rogers said, and suddenly a hand wrapped around Bucky, lifting him from the can and depositing him onto the tarp that covered the floor. He slid a little bit with a wet splat, flapping his wings uselessly as he tried to get some leverage. This had been a bad, horrible, terrible, awful idea. Bucky was totally going to hear it from Sam when he showed up paint-stained. If he could even fly all wet like this. Shit, what if it all dried into his fur and wings?

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Steve said. Bucky gave one last hacking cough, spitting out a little bit of paint. Hopefully he hadn’t swallowed any,  _ God, he would never hear the end of this if Sam ever found out _ .

Bucky finally opened his eyes. They didn’t quite open all the way, and everything was a little fuzzy, but he could make out Steve kneeling on the ground above him, red paint staining the knees of his pants and his hands, one of which was hovering over Bucky uncertainly, like he wanted to pat him on the back or something. Bucky’s ears twitched, and he sneezed again, then proceeded to cough as though hacking up a tiny, bat lung.

“Um, hold on,” Steve said. “Don’t move. Here, let me try to…” Steve trailed off and pushed himself to his feet. Bucky just watched as Steve rushed back to his easel, tore a paper towel off the roll beside it, and dipped it in the water he had been using to rinse his brushes. Steve paused, looking at the damp paper towel in his hand. “Wait right there,” he said to Bucky before turning tail and practically running out of the room. Bucky didn’t, in fact, move––he really couldn’t get very far. The paint was thick and heavy, coating his entire body and weighing down his wings.

Steve returned only a minute later, with a hand towel and a large cup of clean water. He snagged the roll of paper towels from the side of his easel, and then sat down in front of Bucky.

“I’m just gonna try to clean you up a little bit,” Steve said. “Please don’t have rabies. My Ma would kill me if I had to get that shot. Uh,” Steve hesitated, hands fluttering around Bucky like he wasn’t quite sure where to start. Bucky lifted his head toward Steve.

“Right, we should start with your face, huh?”

So Steve was hot  _ and _ smart.

_ Nice _ , Bucky thought as he began to cough up his tiny bat lungs again. Now, he could turn back, that would solve this covered-in-paint problem. Unfortunately, it would also probably freak Steve out and he’d never want to see, let alone talk to, Bucky ever again. Yeah, Bucky would rather sit on the floor and let Steve Rogers gently clean him with a damp cloth. And maybe he’d enjoy it, too; the idea didn’t sound bad at all, in fact.

And it wasn’t. Steve was very careful, wiping down Bucky’s ears gently and making sure to avoid his eyes. All the while he talked to Bucky, too, about various art projects he was working on and how much homework he had to do for other classes. Surprisingly enough, Steve swore a lot, but, then again, he probably didn’t think that this stray bat in his studio could understand him. Steve didn’t even seem mad at all that Bucky had indirectly ruined his clothes, too. The splash had splattered red paint in every direction, including right onto Steve’s shoes.

“You’re really giving me the break I needed from this stupid painting, you know that?” Steve asked Bucky as he dipped a fresh paper towel into the warm water. Well, Bucky was sure the painting wasn’t stupid; it couldn’t be, it was  _ Steve’s _ painting.

Steve frowned. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get all of this off of you,” he said as he rubbed Bucky’s back with the paper towel. That was fine, really; Bucky just needed to be able to fly out of there. He could take care of any remnants on his own.

As soon as Steve reached for his underside, Bucky began to scamper away. Nope, no, that wasn’t going to happen, even if Bucky really was just a bat at the moment.

“Hey, I don’t want you to go back out there with this stuff on you,” Steve protested, catching Bucky around the middle. “It could be dangerous, and not just for you. Any other animal might––” he cut himself off when a knock sounded on the door.

“Steve? You still in there?”

Shit, that was Natasha. Oh great; absolutely fantastic. If she saw Bucky, he would never,  _ ever _ live this down.

“Yep,” Steve called back. “Got a little sidetracked, though.”

The door opened, and, sure enough, Natasha stepped in. “We’re going to need to leave in about ten minutes if you still want to catch the six-o-clock––is that a bat?”

Shit.

Bucky began to squirm in Steve’s grip with renewed vigor, but Steve held fast.

“I guess,” Steve said. “Poor guy fell into a can of paint, you believe that? This is what I get for wanting some fresh air.” Steve held out Bucky for Natasha to see. To her credit, her reaction was nothing more than the rising of a brow as Bucky stared at her in what he hoped translated to  _ get me out get me out help me please. _

“Of course,” Natasha said. “A bat in the middle of New York City. What are you doing here, little guy?” she asked, reaching forward to poke him in the nose. Oh hell no, Bucky thought, and lunged for her finger, teeth bared, before Steve yanked him back.

“Whoa!” Steve exclaimed. “I guess he doesn’t like you.”

“What makes you so sure it’s a he? Maybe it’s a girl bat and only likes boys.”

Bucky hissed.

“Fine, I don’t know,” Steve said. “But I’m trying to get this paint off him before I let him go––isn’t it dangerous for animals? I don’t want it to…”

“What kind of paint?” Natasha asked, and Steve pointed to the can on the floor.

“That’s just water-based, isn’t it?” she said. “A little bit shouldn’t be a problem. As long as he can fly, I say just let him go.”

“I thought we weren’t assuming the bat’s gender,” Steve said.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Just wipe its wings off and toss it back out the window. Meet me downstairs in five.” And with that, she was gone, the door shutting swiftly behind her.

“Alright, you heard her,” Steve told Bucky. “Let’s clean up your wings.”

☾☽

Reliable as ever, Natasha showed up to the tech lab the next day with Steve, who’s bi-weekly study-session-slash-homework-help with Tony was scheduled to start at some point within the next ten minutes or so. Tony had yet to show up.

After spending the better half of an hour washing flakes of dry paint out of his hair and, unfortunately, everywhere else, the night before, Bucky had emerged from the bathroom to see about five text messages from her lighting up his phone. On top of that, he’d had to deal with Sam showing up to the rendezvous hours earlier only to find Bucky covered in what he’d thought had been blood at first glance.

Now, when Natasha removed her sunglasses and seated herself across from Bucky at his table in the back of the lab and levelled him with an annoyingly passive expression, he knew he’d be blushing like no tomorrow if he still could.

“Look, Nat, I’m really tired, okay––”

“You wouldn’t be if you’d just feed normally like the rest of us.”

Even though her voice was quiet, Bucky couldn’t help looking over at Steve, who was looking stunning as always all the way across the room, to make sure he wasn’t listening.

Bucky frowned. “Not here, Nat, please.”

“Alright, whatever. You can be self-destructive if you want,” Natasha said with a sigh. “So how about instead you tell me what happened yesterday?”

Bucky saved the document he was working on at the computer. “I’d really rather not.”

The door to the lab burst open suddenly, revealing Tony on the other side. “What’s up, bitches?” he greeted, then pointed at Bucky. “You get your nipples done yet, Barnes?”

“Oh my god.”

“ _ Tony! _ ”

“What?”

Again, if Bucky could still blush, his face would be capable of heating the entire room by at least five degrees. Instead, he lowered his head into his hands.

“You  _ told _ him?” he hissed to Natasha, who had barely moved. As far as Bucky knew, the only people who knew about his big fat crush on Steve Rogers were her and Sam. Or at least, had been.

“I didn’t tell him anything,” she said.

“What the hell, Stark?” Bucky yelled.

“What? Did I imagine our sensual discussion on erotically placed piercings yesterday?”

“Apparently, considering it never happened!”

Tony made a considering sound. And Steve, Steve was looking between them like this was the best entertainment he’d ever witnessed. Great.

“What’s wrong with nipple piercings?” Steve asked, a slight smile on his face.

“Don’t tell me you––”

“I do. Wanna see?”

“Absolutely, Rogers.”

“No!” Bucky exclaimed. “No nudity in the tech lab!”

But  _ oh god Steve Rogers has his nipples pierced and Bucky definitely wants to see.  _ As if it wasn’t already enough that Steve had multiple piercings in his ears that Bucky really liked. A lot. And, oh no, these thoughts were quickly becoming not-PG. Bucky needed to evacuate the premises.

“We can relocate,” Tony suggested. “Men’s bathroom?”

“Sounds good to me,” Natasha said. “Though I was there when he got them. They’re not puffy and swollen anymore, right? Because that would be a bad thing.” She grins at Bucky, who clenches his jaw to keep himself from popping his fangs out and hissing at her.

Steve shook his head. “I’d tell you if something was leaking pus.”

“I’m leaving,” Bucky announced. And then, because, as Bucky was beginning to learn, things could always get worse, he made very awkward eye contact with Steve on the way out, then tried to push open the pull door he’d successfully opened thousands of times before with no problem.


	2. Bite Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha sat down across from Bucky, eyeing the large mug on the coffee table. “Enjoying some month-old type B?”  
> “I’ve found it’s better warmed up.”  
> “Of course it’s better warm. Blood is supposed to be hot.”  
> “Nat, please don’t.”  
> “How much have you had today?”  
> “I don’t know,” Bucky answered. “Doesn’t matter. It’s like no matter how much I have, it’s not enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who needs character development? let's just floor it on the GOOD STUFF
> 
> I really do wish i had more time to work on and polish this, but unfortunately, i am constantly tired :)

The fourth or fifth time Bucky turned into a bat to watch Steve Rogers paint late at night, Steve gave Bucky a strawberry. Bucky had shown up at the window––which had been shoved as far open as it could go––, and made his way to a safe landing zone. There was a hoodie bundled up and resting on the sill, so Bucky, of course, took a nose dive straight into it. It was Steve’s, no doubt, and the fabric still clung to some warmth––Steve must have just taken it off. Bucky landed with a soft _foomp_ into the folds of the hoodie. Now, in his human form, Bucky was a pretty big guy. His vampirism made it easy to gain and maintain muscle mass as long as he worked out regularly, and although he was around 5’9, he was pretty sure he weighed about, if not more than, 200 pounds. This was something he liked about being a bat; he could feel small. He could _hide._ And in Steve Rogers’s hoodie, no less. It was a privileged place to snuggle.

Steve was painting a person this time. It was, biologically, a male, that much Bucky could tell. He watched Steve endow the man with a generous (and detailed) penis for about twenty minutes. Of _course_ Steve was fantastic at nude portraits. He was fantastic at everything he did.

Bucky shuffled around and stuck his snout into a fold of fabric, breathing in the smell of Steve. Not, like, in a gross way, though. All humans had scents––they smelled like skin, blood, oil, water, all those good old natural compounds and stuff. There was a variance in the scent of blood from person to person, though. Bucky could never put his finger on it, but there was something subtle that made everyone unique. Steve’s blood, for example, was a tad less potent than most blood. Bucky figured he must be anemic or have an iron deficiency, but it definitely wasn’t anything serious. If Steve had some sort of major, life-threatening, blood-related issue, then his blood would smell bad. But it just smelled… well, delectable, but Bucky was _ignoring_ that.

“Oh, Jesus!” Steve exclaimed suddenly, nearly tossing his paintbrush into the air as he turned to retrieve a new palette from the tarp on the floor. He (rather dramatically) placed a hand over his heart––which, by the way, Bucky could hear the beat of. It was quite a relaxing (though occasionally irregular) sound––and glared at Bucky.

“Warm in there, is it?” Steve asked, putting his art supplies down and folding his arms across his chest. Bucky wanted to fold his own arms over Steve’s chest. Well, his _human_ arms.

Bucky wondered what Steve thought about a bat staring at him and watching him paint instead of flapping about in a panic to get out of a building it had accidentally flown into, as normal bats would do.

“You’re the same bat that visited me last week, aren’t you?” Steve asked. “Careful around the paint.”

 _Wow, okay._ So Steve wasn’t above roasting a bat. Bucky hissed at him.

“Yeah, whatever.” Steve picked up a paper bag and rummaged through it before pulling out a container of berries. “Bats eat fruit, right?” he asked. “Want a strawberry?”

Bucky did, in fact, very much want a strawberry, especially if said strawberry was being bestowed upon him by Steve Rogers. It would be a great honor.

“I guess you can’t exactly say yes or no, huh?” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Here, I’ll just put it there and you can––ow!”

As soon as Steve set the strawberry down in front of Bucky, he reached out for it, accidentally snagging Steve’s finger with his claws. Oops.

“Jeez,” Steve said, shaking out his hand. “I guess you do want it. Please don’t get sick.”

As Bucky bit into the berry, which was delightfully juicy but did nothing to slake his constant, incessant thirst for blood, Steve examined his finger, making sure it wasn’t bleeding, and then turned back to his canvas.

“Talking to a _bat_ ,” he muttered to himself as he picked up his palette again. “Giving my food to a _bat_.”

When Natasha stopped by, because of course she had figured out that Bucky would show up again, he simply glared at her from where he laid, hugging his strawberry as he nibbled at it on the window sill, swaddled in Steve Rogers’s warm, blue hoodie.

☾☽

Bucky wasn’t necessarily ignoring his body’s needs. He also wasn’t necessarily ignoring the ill side effects that ignoring his body’s needs was causing. He was just… paying attention to more important things, like his grades. (Which were all fantastic, by the way, and did not require the attention he claimed they did.) He repeatedly brushed off Natasha’s concern, kept visiting Steve as a bat, though he continued to get more exhausted as the days dragged on. He drank bags and bags of blood. And then, one morning, Bucky couldn’t get out of bed. He tried, only to fall to the floor with an extraordinarily, _unnecessarily_ loud thump that drew his roommate (Sam) to his door.

“Bucky?” Sam called cautiously, rapping his knuckles against the wood. “You good in there or do I need to bust the door down?”

“Try turning the handle first,” Bucky mumbled, face against the carpet. “S’not locked. No busting necessary.” Before his brain could register much else, Sam was kneeling before him, pulling at his shoulders.

“Man, you look like _hell,_ and that’s saying something for you.”

How rude. “Just need a nap,” Bucky said to the floor.

Sam pursed his lips. “See, you say that, but for some reason I don’t believe you.” When Bucky didn’t respond, Sam just rolled his eyes, though they remained creased with concern.

“Alright, let’s get you back into your bed.” Sam guided Bucky to his feet, where he lost his balance a few times during the 3-foot journey to the mattress before tripping over himself and falling face-first into the blankets. Nothing would ever be as comfortable as Steve Rogers’s hoodie, he thought. It had ruined Bucky for any other form of blanket or general source of warmth.

“You’re pale as shit,” Sam commented.

“Thanks,” Bucky grunted. Vampires, contrary to popular belief, actually maintained a variety of complexions (though the extent varied from skin tone to skin tone. Bucky, being white, just looked like he got a lot of sun. He’d been told his lack of tan lines was impressive. He’d never met a pale vampire. Granted, he hadn’t met many vampires in general, but that was beside the point.

There was a moment of quiet while Sam tapped his foot. Bucky could practically see the way he must have been holding his hand against his chin, tapping it like he was some sort of cartoon character.

“I’m calling Natasha.”

“No!” Bucky shot straight up, wildly panicked, his hair tangling to an even more irreparable nest of knots. “Fuck,” he said as the motion sent his stomach into what he could only describe as a _tizzy_. “Oh, I’m gonna…”

“Don’t you dare puke on me,” Sam said sternly. “I’m going to get my phone, and I’m going to call…”

Bucky glared at him.

“…someone,” Sam continued hesitantly, “who can maybe, perhaps, assist you. Or talk some sense into you.”

Sam did call Natasha, but by the time she showed up (which was only minutes later,) Bucky was fast asleep again, and he stayed asleep for two days.

☾☽

“He keeps asking about you.”

Bucky wasn’t surprised to hear Natasha’s voice in his and Sam’s living room, so he didn’t jump, but he did look over his shoulder to glare at her. When he’d finally woken from his brief coma, Bucky decided to relocate for a change of scenery.

“Who?” he asked. “Also, Sam will be back from class soon.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Who do you think, genius? Steve.” She paused. “I guess you won’t be making your weekly bat visit to his studio tonight, either. He’s worried about the bat, as well, just so you know. I hope you feel ashamed of yourself.”

Bucky grunted and rolled over on the couch, stretching his legs. “It’s not like he’ll think that’s related to _me_ being sick. Just tell him the bat probably got eaten or something.”

Natasha sat down across from him, eyeing the large mug on the coffee table. “Enjoying some month-old type B?”

“I’ve found it’s better warmed up.”

“Of course it’s better warm. Blood is supposed to be hot.”

“Nat, please don’t.”

“How much have you had today?”

Bucky was definitely running low on his supply in the fridge, but he was working on his sixth mug of the evening. Even as he continued to drink though, his body craved more. The other morning had certainly been a close call, but luckily Sam had known that the mini-fridge was stocked with blood bags (the discovery of which was a hilarious tale for another time,) and they had practically force-fed the stuff to Bucky while he was half-conscious. It kept him up temporarily, but loathe as Bucky was to admit it, there was no long-term replacement for fresh human blood.

“I don’t know,” Bucky answered. “Doesn’t matter. It’s like no matter how much I have, it’s not enough,” he told Natasha.

She was quiet for a moment. Bucky took a large drink from his mug.

“What about Sam?” she asked suddenly.

Bucky swallowed. The blood was lukewarm now. “What about him?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“Ask him what?” Bucky thought he knew what she was on about, but he decided to play dumb. Natasha could clearly tell, though, and she rolled her eyes.

“Ask him if you can feed from him. Bucky, I swear to God––”

“No way. No. That would––our friendship would be completely ruined!”

“How so?”

“Nat. You know what feeding can be like. I can’t… Sam wouldn’t. We just can’t, okay? I shudder at the mere _thought_.” He shuddered for dramatic effect.

“But you refuse to feed from a non-consenting individual, which is kind of getting in the way of a necessity no matter how guilty you might feel about it. They don’t even notice.”

“That’s because you always distract them with sex!”

“Well, yeah. The bite is made to relax whoever you’re taking from. It’s this thing called evolution. You might have learned about it in high school.”

Bucky frowned. “I know that,” he said. “But it’s still…” he trailed off. The morals of biting were confusing, to say the least. It could definitely be way worse than it was, on one hand. On another, most people found it to be a pleasurable, sometimes-erotic experience; like a high. But making somebody compliant like that without their consent just rubbed Bucky the wrong way, and it wasn’t like he could just _ask_ . He thought that maybe, _maybe_ , if he had someone who knew, and who was willing to let him drink their blood… that would be okay. But the only human he knew who even knew about vampires and had seen enough to actually believe in them was Sam, and that just… he couldn’t. It was too weird. Nope.

“God, Bucky. You have too many good morals to be a vampire, seriously.”

“Well, I’m sorry I don’t want to paralyze someone and then drink their blood while they’re practically unconscious.”

Natasha rolled her eyes again, and Bucky thought he should start keeping count of how often she did that.

“It doesn’t paralyze them, James.”

“Might as well,” he shot back.

“Okay, I’m done with this for now. Clearly you and your stubborn nature require a much more niche solution.”

☾☽

Bucky heard Sam and another person just before they opened the door, which was slightly concerning since he could normally detect a human from over 100 feet away no matter what was in between them.

And, low and behold, Sam brought inside with him the one person whom Bucky would really rather not see him like this. He eyed the mug of warmed blood on the table, and snatched it up to cradle it in his hands. He drew his knees to his chest and rested the mug between them and his chest, fixing Sam with a _mighty_ glare.

“Hey, Buck, how are you feeling?” Sam asked. Before Bucky could even answer (which he did by continuing to glare,) Sam gestured between Steve Rogers and Bucky.

“You know my buddy Steve, right?”

The amount of absolute bullshit that Bucky put up with on a day to day basis was truly outstanding. He should’ve been getting paid for this. Sam knew damn well just how massive Bucky’s crush on Steve Rogers was. Though that wasn’t to say Sam didn’t support said crush––in fact, it was one of his favorite things to endorse. He and Steve were close friends, and he’d been trying to convince Bucky to do anything _except_ turn into a bat to watch Steve paint.

“Yes,” Bucky ground out. “We’ve been acquainted. Hi, Steve.” He offered Steve a nod, which was returned with a smile. What a beautiful smile…

“Sorry he’s so crabby,” Sam was saying to Steve.

Fuck Sam, Bucky thought.

“––gets like this when he’s feeling under the weather, but luckily I think he’s past the worst of it.”

“I sure hope so,” Steve said. “It’s been over a week since you’ve been in class,” he told Bucky.

Bucky nodded. “Yep. Do you think I’m still contagious, Sam?”

_Please, Lord, Sam, just––_

Sam rolled his eyes. “You were never contagious, Bucky. It’s not that kind of illness.”

“What exactly is it?” Steve asked as Sam guided him farther into the apartment.

_Damn it all._

“I’ll let you explain, Bucky, but I gotta run,” Sam said as Steve settled into the armchair across the coffee table. “Steve is just gonna hang here ‘till I get back to make sure you don’t fall into a coma again.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky said to Sam.

“A _coma_ ?” Steve asked. “You were in a _coma_?” He sat forward in his chair, like he wanted to reach out and take Bucky’s vital signs to make sure he wasn’t going to drop dead on his watch.

Bucky sighed as Sam shut the door behind him and went on his way. “He’s just jealous I’ve been sleeping so much more than him.”

“What can I do to help?” Steve asked, and damn, Bucky really liked this man. He met Steve’s eyes and promptly got lost in them.

“Water, maybe?” Steve suggested. Bucky nodded without a second thought. As soon as Steve was out of the room, he downed the rest of his mug of blood and put it on the floor where (hopefully) Steve wouldn’t really see it.

“Ice?” Steve called from the kitchenette.

Bucky grunted. He vaguely registered the sound of the fridge opening, and foolishly didn’t think much of it. Opening fridges was a normal day-to-day practice. Except most people have fridges filled with food and drinks, not bagged blood. Though the bags were pretty much opaque, so maybe Steve wouldn’t freak out completely?

But Steve came back like nothing was wrong and set a glass of ice water on a coaster in front of the couch Bucky was splayed on.

“Were you on an IV or somethin’?” Steve asked as he settled back into the armchair.

“What?” Bucky took a sip of the water and then plunked it back down on the table. Steve reached forward and put the glass back on the coaster.

“The bags in the fridge from the hospital. I didn’t realize it was that serious.”

“No,” Bucky said, burying his head in the blankets. What was the use of lying anymore? (He was feeling a tad melodramatic.) “I’m a vampire. That’s just my blood stash.”

“ _Stash?_ ”

“That––definitely wasn’t the questionable part of my statement, Steve,” Bucky said, looking up.

Steve shrugged. “I mean, I’m not that surprised. I haven’t known you for very long, but you do have a lot of behaviors that remind me of Nat.”

“You––”

“I’ve known she was a vampire since I met her. I know a few, actually, not including you. _Now_ including you.”

“Fuck.”

“I mean, it’s not like she ever talks about it. I don’t know much.”

“Have you––did she ever––”

“What?”

“Bite you?”

Steve laughed. “No way.”

Bucky looked away. “Oh.”

“That’s not to say I’d ever be _opposed_ to it,” Steve added quickly. “If someone needed it, I’d be happy to help. It’s like donating. Saving a life and all that.”

“Steve, you got no idea what the bite really is, do you? We’re dangerous. _I’m_ dangerous.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not worried about being bitten, I’m worried about you getting sicker. That’s what happens when you don’t drink enough, right? That’s why you’ve been missing so much class?”

“And how’d you figure that out?”

Steve huffed. He put his hands on his hips, cocking a brow at Bucky. Shit, that was hot. “Well,” Steve said, that sharp, sarcastic edge to his voice that Bucky loved finally making today’s debut, “I think that’s generally how nourishment works for all living things, so I figured it was safe to assume.”

“I should just permanently become a bat,” Bucky said, mostly to himself.

Steve paused. “A… wait, a bat? You can… Christ, the _bat_ … _you_ were the bat? The bat was you!” Steve exclaimed, pointing at Bucky with his entire arm outstretched. “Holy shit.”

“I thought you knew stuff about vampires.”

Steve folded his arms across his chest. “I didn’t know that you could _turn into bats,_ holy shit. Natasha never did that.”

“Natasha hates being a bat. I don’t think she’s been one in years.” It was true; she absolutely despised being in bat form.

Steve just shook his head. “Anyway,” he said. “Bats aside, I’m here because I’m worried about you.” He kneeled beside the bed, voice gentling as he laid a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I miss you. And when Sam said I might be able to help––”

Bucky tried to sit up. His vision swam at the subtle shift in altitude, and he flopped back down. He missed laying in Steve’s hoodie. “Sam said _what_? That fucking traitor.”

“I decided that I would help,” Steve finished, faithfully ignoring Bucky. Just like everyone else in his life did, apparently.

They ended up settling on the couch, Bucky sitting up straight, feet on the floor and back against the cushions. Steve sat in Bucky’s lap, straddling his thighs. Bucky’s heart––which did, in fact, still beat, contrary to popular belief––was _racing._ Both at the prospect of having Steve Rogers _in his lap_ and the idea of drinking fresh blood.

“Are you sure about this?” Bucky asked quietly, putting his hands on Steve’s shoulders.

“I trust you.”

Bucky frowned. “Steve, I haven’t drunk from a person in six months. I…” He smoothed his hands down Steve’s arms. “I’ve killed people.”

“Do you feel like you might kill me?”

Bucky thought about it. The smell of Steve’s blood was relatively normal, but still drew him in with surprising power.

“Just think about how if you drink all my blood in one go, you won’t ever get to have it again,” Steve suggested.

It was kind of gruesome, but for some reason this helped Bucky rationalize with his instincts. Steve was a willing source of food. If Steve was gone, then Bucky’s food would be, too. Easy as that. Simple conservation.

When Bucky finally bit down, Steve gasped in pain and Bucky pulled back immediately, before any blood could even rise from the wound and hit his tongue.

Bucky started to scramble back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry––you know what, forget it. Forget this––”

“Bucky.” Steve cupped a hand around Bucky’s cheek, angling his face to meet his eyes. “I’m fine,” Steve said, smiling at him. “Keep going.”

Bucky hesitated, but the way Steve was staring into his eyes did him in, and he nodded, then ducked his head back down. His fangs slid back into the nick he’d made before, and he paused to slide a hand up Steve’s side and squeeze reassuringly before finally taking the plunge. His other hand held Steve’s free one.

“Fuck,” Bucky rasped after breaking skin, pulling back only far enough to gasp. Blood trickled from the punctures on Steve’s neck and he licked it up immediately. Bucky hummed loudly at the taste and pressed his tongue against Steve’s skin again before retracting his fangs and latching back on to suck. His fingers tightened around Steve’s side, and he let go of Steve’s hand in favor of sliding his own up to lightly grip Steve’s hair and pull his head to the side for easier access. Steve’s blood tasted so good. It felt so _good_.

Bucky’s eyes were closed, but he could feel Steve arching against him, their chests pressing together. Bucky’s brain unhelpfully reminded him about Steve’s nipple piercings. A hand clutched at the back of Bucky’s head, grabbing his hair, too, and pulling him in closer. Steve was practically holding Bucky’s face against his neck. Bucky sighed out through his nose, relishing the feeling of Steve’s hands on him and pressing into the skin of Steve’s throat. He inhaled deeply before taking another drink from his veins.

Steve moaned. Bucky thought that was the nicest sound he’d ever heard. He wanted to hear it again. For the rest of his life, maybe. Eternity, perhaps. Shit, of course Steve would actually _enjoy_ this. Could he get any more perfect?

Bucky drew his hand away from Steve’s arm and grabbed his thigh instead, hiking it up a bit to maximize contact and make sure Steve wouldn’t tip over.

When Bucky pulled back, Steve dropped his forehead onto Bucky’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” Steve gasped out, clutching the back of Bucky’s shirt with tight fists. “That was… mm, slightly arousing.”

“Better than if it hurt,” Bucky replied with a sigh. Steve tucked his chin over Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s back to pull him even closer. Somehow he felt even more tired than before, but in a sated, full, and happy kind of way. He didn’t want to let go of Steve. Whether it was his hindbrain believing that the man was an important source of food or his own affection playing up, Bucky wanted Steve close.

When they finally pried apart from each other a few minutes later, Steve tried to stand up and immediately sat back down on the couch, this time beside Bucky.

“Just gonna give it another few minutes,” Steve said. “‘M just a bit lightheaded.”

“Let me grab you a bandage,” Bucky said. “My saliva should make the bite heal without any scarring, but it’ll take a couple of days.”

“What if I want it to scar?”

Bucky blinked. “I… ban… daid.” He scuttled out of the living room quickly and slid into the bathroom, throwing open the cabinet. Sam had a first aid kit somewhere in there. Sure enough, Bucky was able to find it on the top shelf, and he scrambled (gracefully now that he’d been properly nourished) through it, producing some gauze and a bandage. He also snagged a washcloth from the rack of towels and dampened it under the sink, then zoomed back to Steve. Bucky felt like a hurricane in his franticness to aid his… his what? His Steve? His food? His… source of nutrients and also friendship?

As soon as he reached the couch he slowed down again, and carefully set everything down before gently wiping the wet washcloth across the wound on Steve’s neck. The remaining trickle of blood was already clotting thanks to Bucky’s special vampire saliva. Twin streaks from each puncture were already drying, and Bucky did his best to be careful as he cleaned Steve up. The gauze clearly hadn’t been necessary, but Bucky’d had half a mind to bring the whole entire kit with him, so he’ll count this as a win.

“Got it all?” Steve asked, clearly amused by Bucky’s apparent mother hen-ing. Bucky pouted at him and grabbed the bandage, peeling off the adhesive coverings. He was meticulous in the application of it to Steve’s wound, making sure there was ample spacing in all the right spots and the sticky bits wouldn’t pull at Steve’s skin at all when he moved.

The wound was messier than it should be, courtesy of Bucky’s unused, dull fangs. Hopefully they’d be back to their original, needle-like sharpness after a few gos. He didn’t want to stress Steve’s skin more than necessary. Well, even though Bucky’s saliva helped the wounds heal with minimal scarring, anyway. Sharper teeth would mean faster access and a lower amount of pain upon puncture. Not that Steve seemed to mind. He had, in fact, seemed to enjoy being bitten and fed from quite a lot. A surprise, but a welcome one for sure.

“How… how do you feel?” Bucky asked. “Do you need anything else? I’ll get you anything you want, just say the word.”

“I’m fine,” Steve said. “Tired, but that’s normal. A little bit shaky, but it’ll pass.”

“Juice!” Bucky blurted, shooting to his feet. And, damn, he felt amazing. “I’ll get you juice!”

Then Bucky realized he only had blood in his fridge. “Be back in a minute,” he told Steve, who was just staring at him with a raised brow.

Bucky hadn’t been able to move this fast in months. He made it to the convenience store at the corner, realized he forgot his wallet, went back to the (fifth floor) apartment to get said wallet, and ran back to the convenience store in one single minute. He was creating quite the draft.

By the time he returned to the apartment, three minutes had passed since he initially left.

“You’re fast,” Steve observed.

“Because of you,” Bucky replied. “Here. I got––” Bucky paused to read the label on the container. “Apple juice.”

“A whole gallon of it?”

“Um. Half a gallon. Is that okay? I can go back and get a smaller one!” He was about halfway back to the door when Steve stopped him.

“Bucky, it’s fine,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Just hand it over.”

“Do you… want a glass?” Bucky asked, making his way back to the couch.

Steve squinted, then held his hands out. “Nah.”

Bucky unscrewed the cap and handed the juice over. He tried to watch the way Steve’s throat bobbed with every swallow he took as surreptitiously as possible.

“I feel so… amazing,” Bucky said as he returned to his spot beside Steve on the couch. He sat close, perched right next to Steve so that he could watch his every move; it was Bucky’s responsibility to make sure Steve was okay after the bite.

Steve took a sip of his juice and then rolled his eyes. “Glad one of us does.” When Bucky winced, he immediately backtracked. “I’m just joking, Buck. I told you a thousand times, I don’t mind. My body feels like shit most of the time anyway.”

Bucky pouted at Steve again. “Really though,” he said, taking one of Steve’s hands in both of his. “Thank you.”

Steve met his eyes and, gosh, they really were such pretty eyes.

“You should… lay down,” Bucky said. “On a bed.”

Steve chuckled. “Yeah? You gonna carry me now that you’re strong and all that?”

If Bucky had a tail, he was sure it would be wagging as he scooped Steve up bridal style and carried him across the apartment.

☾☽

“Do you have to snarl when you pull your fangs back in?”

“Does it bother you?”

“No. It’s cute.”

“It’s a habit. The first time my fangs came out, I didn’t know how to get them back in. I was making faces at myself on my phone and when I snarled, they retracted. The noise is part of the package now. But I could stop.”

“Well I like it. Pretty dorky, though.”

“It’s fun to pretend I’m a stereotypical vampire sometimes.”

“And what are stereotypical vampires like?”

“You don’t know? Never read _Dracula_ or _Twilight?_ ”

“Nah, not really,” Steve said. “I mean, I know the whole blood-sucking thing, but… you’re only the second vampire I’ve met, fictional or otherwise.”

“Hmm.” Bucky tapped his chin with his forefinger. “We’re stereotypically really sexy.”

“You’ve already debunked that one.”

Bucky gasped. He half sat up from where he was lounging beside Steve on the bed and propped himself up on his elbows. “I could be sexy if I wanted to!”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t doubt that.” A light blush flooded his cheeks as he feigned nonchalance.

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires aren’t actually dead,” Bucky added.

“I didn’t think so, considering you’re talking to me right now.”

“Well a lot of people assume our hearts don’t beat, but it’s really just like going on a diet. Except humans can’t sustain themselves with just blood.”

”Would it be rude to ask how long you’ve been a vampire?” Steve asked. “I don’t know much about etiquette when it comes to these things.”

“Maybe, but I don’t mind,” Bucky said. He did tense up, though. “I’m pretty much considered a baby in vampire lifespans. I was turned two years ago.”

“What’s the average lifespan of a vampire?” Steve asked.

“Um… until they die?”

“Of course. Does turning into a bat hurt or anything?”

“I get dizzy if I change forms too quickly. Wanna see?” Bucky didn’t wait for Steve’s answer, instead transforming into a bat immediately, only to recall after he was swamped in his own shirt how the clothes wouldn’t change size and shape with him. He transformed back, sitting on his ass, tangled in his shirt and pants around his ankles.

“Are you dizzy now?”

“Very.” Bucky tipped to one side and caught himself on the bed frame, a worryingly-loud creak filling the air as his hand clenched around the wood.

“Lay back down, would you?” Steve demanded, grabbing Bucky’s forearm. Bucky let Steve drag him back down, and for a moment they just laid there, staring at each other in the dark.

“More stereotypes?” Steve prompted.

Bucky thought about it. There were quite a few to choose from. “Vampires really like necks.”

“Do they? Do you like mine?”

Bucky swallowed hard. _Yes._ “They like _biting_ them,” he explained, voice tight as he gazed longingly at Steve’s bandaged throat. “I don’t like biting in general. Actually, scratch that––all vampires love biting, including me, I just hate that I like it so much. Also, opening my mouth wide makes my fangs come out, and sometimes they get stuck in food.” Bucky wasn’t sure why he shared that information. It was practically spilling out of him at this point. He’d tell Steve Rogers anything he wanted.

“What if you’re giving a blowjob?” Steve asked the question quietly, as if he hadn’t meant to actually voice it, and then his eyes widened quite comically as a new blush filled his cheeks.

Bucky briefly debated his response. How to make Steve feel less awkward?

“Wanna find out?” Bucky ended up asking with a grin.

“Probably better safe than sorry for now,” Steve replied with a chuckle, but he sank back into the bed, more relaxed.

This sexual tension was going to kill Bucky.

“Agreed. I’d rather like to keep your dick intact.”

_Why did Bucky SAY that? That’s creepy! What the HELL?_

“Huh,” Steve said. “Uh, more stereotypes. Keep going.”

Bucky thought for a moment, then said “they sparkle.”

“You do, Mister Toothpaste Commercial. I’m pretty sure every star in the sky is in your eyes, as well.”

“I meant their skin,” Bucky said, smiling nonetheless.

“Well, your skin glows, too,” Steve said nonchalantly. “What lot I’ve seen of it, at least.”

“Are you just going to keep complimenting me?” Bucky asked. “Not that I mind.”

“I’m just telling you the truth.” Steve turned his body a little bit to face Bucky. “Another question.”

“Yeah?” Bucky looked up at Steve.

Steve hesitated for a moment, then spoke. “Do… do your fangs pop when you kiss someone?” His voice was hushed.

The question caught Bucky completely off guard. His face wiped blank. “I don’t know,” he answered. It was true; Bucky hadn’t kissed someone since he’d been turned.

“Can I find out?”

Bucky just smiled at him. “I can’t imagine being a vampire is that cruel.”

“Bucky,” Steve said. “Can I find out?”

They kissed. First it was a simple, slow peck, and then Steve’s hand found its way to the back of Bucky’s head and gripped his hair, and if _that_ wasn’t asking Bucky Barnes for a whole make-out session, then who knew what was? And so they… well, they made out, facing each other, laying down on Bucky’s bed, hands wandering, though not too adventurously.

Pulling back to let Steve actually take in some oxygen, Bucky leaned in to nuzzle his nose into Steve’s neck, inhaling deeply. God, he smelled divine. And not just his blood––though that itself was intoxicating––, Steve’s entire being just had a nice scent. Probably his soap or whatever. Bucky felt completely sated with Steve in his arms. “I guess they don’t pop out when I kiss people, then,” Bucky said quietly. 

“And I guess you do like necks,” Steve observed.

“Maybe I only like yours.”

“I’m lucky, then.” Steve let go of Bucky’s hand to tug him closer by the waist. “It’s late. You wanna just sleep here?”

“Honestly, I’m really cuddly. So yeah, but if you’re not comfortable with sharing the bed, that’s completely okay.” In the back of his mind, the fact registered with Bucky that Sam hadn’t actually returned. Bucky quickly slipped his phone from his pocket only to see a single message from Sam about eight minutes ago that consisted of a mere winky-face. That fucker really knew what he was doing.

“Come on.” Steve let go of Bucky, then pulled him into a hug again. Bucky slowly looped his arms around Steve’s neck. “If we’re being honest,” Steve said, “I’ve had a crush on you for a long time. You didn’t know I was in some of your classes, did you?”

“Wait, really?” Bucky pulled back, embarrassed. “No, I didn’t. Probably because I try to minimize the amount of people I befriend by ignoring them all.”

“That’s nice.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Don’t ignore me anymore, okay?” He pushed Bucky down on the bed gently, then got up to reposition himself and pull the blankets back.

“I won’t.”

“Another vampire question," Steve said as he got under the covers after tripping twice and stubbing his toe at least three times in the dark. “Do you really need to sleep? Are you more awake at night?”

“Yes, we need sleep. And I was nocturnal at first, but my current schedule doesn’t allow for that, so.”

“Do you ever have sleep issues?”

“My body still _wants_ to be nocturnal. It happens as a vampire.” Bucky moved his arms to rub Steve’s shoulders gently. “Most things get a little bit ruined.”

Steve hummed in response, then rolled over again. He nuzzled his nose against Bucky’s neck and wrapped his arms around his waist. “You didn’t, though.”

“What?”

“You didn’t get ruined.”

Bucky smiled. Oh, he really could not believe this was all actually happening. Half of his mind was trying to convince him that this was all some weird coma dream, but he knew better. He was glad he knew better.

Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. Bucky’s heart soared. “Get some sleep.”

The two of them snuggled together in silence. Bucky rested his head on Steve’s shoulders, content to finally be close to someone. He listened to Steve’s heartbeat, and, contrary to what he’d expected, it calmed him down instead of making him thirsty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i know, my writing is bad and rushed and not at it's greatest. what can i say? i'm impatient these days. please please please drop a comment and tell me what you think! your feedback truly is my lifeblood <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed; they keep me writing. Comments always equal faster, more frequent updates, and I love to know what you think <3 Let me know what you liked, didn't like, want more of, want less of, or if there are new things you'd like to see or suggestions you have!
> 
> ALSO: I'm on Twitter at @dappledplatypus –– I post occasional snipsnops (unpublished fic excerpts) :D


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